How to Survive as a Cannon Fodder

The day began as any other, with the sun peeking through the curtains of my modest apartment. It was a simple space, but it was mine, and I cherished the solitude it offered since the world took my parents from me two years prior. Now, as a university student, my mornings were regimented—wake, prepare, and embark on the pursuit of knowledge.

This particular morning, I awoke enveloped in an uncharacteristic sense of optimism. The air felt lighter, and even the mirror seemed to reflect a brighter version of myself. After a brisk shower that did little to dampen my spirits, I dressed in haste, only to be betrayed by the clock's forward march—I was late.

In a flurry of motion, I donned my attire, seized my satchel, and fled my sanctuary. The lock? Its status was a mystery, lost in the whirlwind of my departure. But what did it matter? My possessions were few, and their value lay more in sentiment than in substance.

My feet pounded the pavement, keeping time with my racing heart. Fortune favored my frantic pace, for as I rounded the corner, the bus trundled into view, its doors opening as if in greeting. With a leap, I boarded my chariot, and within the span of a quarter-hour, the hallowed halls of academia loomed before me.

I hastened to the classroom, my arrival heralded by the echo of my knock against the sturdy door. A moment of silence hung in the air before the professor's voice, rich and resonant, granted me entry: "You may enter." 

I push open the door, the creak echoing through the room, drawing the attention of every student within. All eyes, from the studious to the indifferent, fix upon me like a spotlight, their silent judgment palpable. At the front, Mr. Sanchez, a middle-aged figure with a prominent bald spot atop his head, glares at me with undisguised disapproval, his attire as standard as his expression.

"Late again, Jade Smith," he admonishes, his voice tinged with irritation. "It's already the third time this week."

My heart sinks at his words, a pang of guilt washing over me. "I'm sorry, it won't happen again, Mr. Sanchez," I reply hurriedly, my apology hanging in the air like a fragile promise.

Mr. Sanchez levels one last dark look in my direction before gesturing for me to take my seat. I comply swiftly, relief flooding through me as I find solace in the familiarity of my best friend's presence. As always, Lucy has saved me a seat, her smile radiant despite the reprimand I've just endured.

I slide into the chair beside her, grateful for her unwavering support, and she wastes no time in teasing me, her laughter bubbling forth like a spring. "You were still soaking in the shower that you didn't realize what time it was, Jade," she jests, her amusement infectious.

I chuckle, shaking my head in mock exasperation. "I can't help it. After a nice hot shower, you should take a cue from me, Lucy," I retort, unpacking my belongings with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.

"Have you heard about the new book, Twilight's Embrace?" Lucy chirps, her eyes bright with excitement.

I pause, considering her question before responding. "Not really. I find it a bit too cliché for my taste," I admit with a shrug.

Lucy's smile doesn't falter as she launches into her defense. "Oh, but it's not as cliché as you think! Plus, there's a character with the same first and last name as you. That's reason enough to give it a shot," she insists, her enthusiasm contagious.

Before I can reply, Mr. Sanchez's stern voice cuts through our conversation, reminding us of our surroundings. "Enough chatter, ladies. Get on with your work," he commands, effectively ending our discussion.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, the minutes slipping away like grains of sand through an hourglass. As the final bell rings, signaling the end of classes, I bid Lucy farewell with a promise to catch up soon.

Exiting the university, I board the bus, my mind still swirling with thoughts of the book Lucy had mentioned. Could it really be worth a read? The notion lingers, teasing at the edges of my curiosity.

Once home, I waste no time in settling onto the familiar comfort of my sofa, laptop in hand. With a few keystrokes, I navigate to the ebook version of Twilight's Embrace, my anticipation building with each passing second.

After devouring the pages of Twilight's Embrace for two hours, I closed the book with a sigh of disappointment. The plot felt too cliché, the twists predictable, and the character with my own name, Jade Smith, proved to be more exasperating than endearing. She stumbled through the narrative with a reckless naivety, her actions bordering on absurdity. At just 19 years old, she met her demise in a manner so foolish it bordered on farce – a stark contrast to the gravity of the story's setting. Her misguided attempts to antagonize the villain, despite her family's humble status and the villain's noble lineage, left me shaking my head in disbelief.

With a heavy heart, I shut down my computer and glanced at the time on my phone. 8 p.m. already. Time had slipped through my fingers like sand, leaving me with nothing but a sense of wasted opportunity.

Quickly, I retreated to the bathroom for a shower, the warm water washing away the remnants of disappointment. Dressed in my pajamas, I rustled up a simple dinner and ate mechanically, my thoughts still lingering on the disappointing tale I had just consumed.

Fatigue weighed heavily upon me as I crawled into bed, seeking solace in the oblivion of sleep. But just as my eyelids began to droop, I was jolted awake by a sudden sense of disorientation. Darkness enveloped me like a suffocating shroud, my surroundings vanishing into the void. Panic clawed at my chest as I thrashed about, my screams swallowed by the oppressive silence.

Then, as suddenly as it had descended, the darkness lifted, replaced by an overwhelming expanse of white. Blinking against the blinding light, I found myself face to face with a young girl, no more than five years old. Despite her tender age, her expression brimmed with fury, her tiny fists clenched in indignation. Dressed in a simple red dress, her black hair cascading around her shoulders, she radiated an otherworldly aura that left me speechless.

The girl on the ground clambers to her feet, her small frame trembling with indignation. "How dare you push me, commoner? Don't you know who I am?" she seethes, her voice laced with disdain.

I'm dumbfounded, the surrealness of the situation rendering me momentarily speechless. Before I can even gather my wits to respond, she barrels on, her anger unabated. "I am Raven Nightingale," she declares, her name striking a discordant chord within me.

My heart lurches in my chest at the sound of that name. Raven Nightingale – the very antagonist from the book I had just finished reading. Panic grips me like a vice as I struggle to make sense of the impossible scenario unfolding before my eyes. Is this some twisted dream? I desperately attempt to pinch myself awake, but the sensation is all too real.

I glance down at my hands, only to find them smaller, more delicate than before. Fear courses through me as the truth dawns with chilling clarity. I've somehow been transported into the very world of Twilight's Embrace, a reality I had dismissed as mere fiction mere hours ago.

A surge of disbelief and dread washes over me, mingling with a sense of helpless resignation. How could this be happening? I'm trapped within the confines of a story I never wished to inhabit, forced to navigate its treacherous twists and turns without a clue of how to escape.